


Two in a Million

by imunbreakabledude



Series: Not Stepsisters [2]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Fluff, Humor, Sisters bickering, everything is legal in new hampshire, extravagant romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:15:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25996582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imunbreakabledude/pseuds/imunbreakabledude
Summary: Imagine Me and You (And Our Parents): Chapter 19, Remix.--Villanelle is in love.Nothing will ruin this for her.Not even an extremely annoying younger sister who has just been handed a live grenade in the form of knowledge of Villanelle’s secret affair.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Series: Not Stepsisters [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1886842
Comments: 25
Kudos: 212





	Two in a Million

**Author's Note:**

> Hi pals! This is a bonus chapter to my fic, [Imagine Me And You (And Our Parents)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22864576). Many, many people requested over the life of that fic to see some of Villanelle's perspective, so, here it is. This is Villanelle's perspective of Chapter 19 of that story. Please note that you should read at least up through Chapter TWENTY of the main story, before reading this, to avoid spoilers!

  
_“Just when we both thought our lives were set in stone,_  
 _They shone a light and brought us together.”_  
—S Club 7

* * *

Villanelle is in love.

Nothing will ruin this for her.

Not even an extremely annoying younger sister who has just been handed a live grenade in the form of knowledge of Villanelle’s secret affair.

“You are with Eve? That’s disgusting,” Irina screeches into the cell phone. Villanelle curses under her breath and goes some distance away from where Eve and Kenny sit anxiously at their café table.

“No it isn’t! We aren’t related!” Villanelle answers in Russian, instinctively – she doesn’t want Eve to snoop in on what she has to say. 

“Technically,” Irina says, and Villanelle can hear the smug grin in her voice. “But it’s still really weird, and you know that, which is why you’ve kept it a secret. Except for kissing in the middle of a crowded event.”

“Go do your math homework!”

“You know I’ve already done it.” Villanelle can _hear_ the smug expression on her sister’s face through the phone. “What if Dad finds out?”

“He’s not going to.”

“What if I tell him?”

“I will kill you if you do.”

“Then persuade me not to.”

Villanelle switches over to French out of pure fury. “Listen, Irina. I’m not fucking around. I actually love her.”

“You _love_ her?” Irina scoffs.

“Yes, I love her, and I don’t care if it’s weird. Besides, I have a plan about that.”

“A plan to make her not our step sister?”

“She isn’t yet! And she won’t ever be… If I ask her to marry me first.”

Finally, a pause before Irina answers. “Seriously?”

“I just got back from buying a ring.”

Villanelle reaches into her pocket, where her hand closes around a small square box. She had to wake up at six in the morning to drive out to Rockport and pick up the ring Eve liked from the jewelry store. She’s a bit annoyed about having to make the trip, since she planned to buy it over the weekend, that very night after Eve admired it.

But then, that night. It was scary. Eve learned about Anna, and Eve was scared. And that made Villanelle scared, that Eve might be scared of her. It didn’t seem like a very good idea to buy a ring.

“Ha! Gay!” Irina snickers.

“Of course it is gay. It’s two women getting married,” Villanelle snaps. “At least, I hope. I am not sure if she will say yes.” Somehow, this fear, which is utterly unspeakable in English, is marginally more bearable to admit in French.

“Also gay.”

Villanelle does not appreciate how Irina is taking this entire thing as a joke. “I need to blow her socks off with this proposal, alright? I could use your help.”

“If there’s something in it for me.”

Though relief washes over Villanelle, she makes sure to keep her tone loud and aggressive – have to disguise the real tone of the conversation from Eve. “We can talk over the details in person. I’ll drive out and meet you as soon as your classes are over. I am going to make some excuses to you-know-who now, so that I can get away. ”

“Gay,” Irina pronounces in perfectly articulated Mandarin.

“I hate you,” Villanelle answers back.

“I love you.”

“I love you too! Goodbye!”

* * *

An hour later, Villanelle’s bouncing on the squeaky mattress in Irina’s dorm room, while Irina fusses with her phone.

“Would you stop with that?”

“I have to document how much of my time you demand so I can properly charge you.”

Villanelle snatches the phone from Irina’s hands. “Your payment is me not beating the crap out of you. Or telling Dad about your secret test fraud business.”

“Like you really would.”

“Secret for a secret.”

“Give me my phone back.”

Villanelle hands it over. “I’ve asked Kenny to meet with me tonight so I can clear the plan with him, but there’s lots more planning to do for the actual night.”

“How hard is it? Buy a ring, ask a question.”

Villanelle scoffs. “You have no imagination! Every aspect of the night has to be perfect. I’m thinking a boat, if I can get my hands on one.”

“I see. You’re going really dramatic, because you don’t think she’ll say yes unless you put on a whole show.”

“Shut up!” Villanelle snaps. “I want it to be a night to remember, that’s all. I’ll get a great dinner, and expensive wine, that goes without saying. There have to be fireworks, that’s the most important thing.” Irina’s ears prick up at that, so Villanelle adds, “I thought that’d get your attention. You can help set them off, once we acquire them.”

“Well, you can’t get them here. They’re illegal in Massachusetts.”

“What?” Villanelle exclaims, then mutters, “Stupid state.”

“My friend Isabel said her brothers drive up to New Hampshire to get a load of fireworks before Memorial Day. Everything is legal in New Hampshire.”

“New Hampshire it is, then. You don’t mind missing school tomorrow, do you?”

Irina’s fist-pump provides all the answer Villanelle needs.

* * *

  
  
That evening, Villanelle takes the long elevator ride up to the Top of the Hub, at the very top of the Prudential Tower, the second-tallest building in Boston. Floor to ceiling windows look out onto a dizzying view of the city from the 52nd floor.

When Kenny appears, the host directs him over to where Villanelle is ready and waiting. He wears a lavender button down shirt, but glances around nervously at the more formally dressed patrons, and at Villanelle, who’s in a metallic leopard-print suit, one of her favorites.

“Thank you for coming to meet me.” Villanelle motions for Kenny to sit.

Kenny grips the back of the chair awkwardly. “Just checking, this isn’t… a date, right? Because, I’m taken. And, I mean, you’re – you and Eve, are, um…”

“Relax, Kenny. I could never. You are like a brother to me.”

Kenny tightens his knuckles around the chair. No sense of humor.

“Sit,” Villanelle says, with a bit of extra firmness because Kenny seems rather reluctant to do so. They order drinks, or rather, Villanelle orders drinks for both of them because Kenny seems to have lost his voice. 

Once their cocktails arrive, Villanelle nudges one towards Kenny, then takes a sip of her own to steel her. “I have asked you here to discuss something important.”

“About the wedding?” Kenny finally relents enough to take a sip of the martini in front of him.

“In a manner of speaking. I would like to ask Eve to marry me.”

Gin erupts onto the tablecloth as Kenny chokes on his drink.

“You and Eve both do that a lot,” Villanelle drawls.

“Sorry,” Kenny gurgles as he fumbles with his napkin. “Just… could you repeat that?”

“I said, I want to ask Eve to marry me.”

“But our parents…”

“I know,” Villanelle says. “Giving her up after the wedding, that was the plan at the start, but it isn’t an option anymore. Kenny, I love her.”

“How would you…?” Kenny trails off. “I mean, when? June third…”

“Before then, if Eve is comfortable with it.” Villanelle’s gaze flicks down to her plate. “If she says yes.”

Kenny seems to have finally recovered from his choking. His fingers rub up and down on the stem of his martini glass. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Villanelle says. “I want your blessing.”

“My blessing.”

“I won’t go ahead without it.”

Kenny’s cheeks go pink. “You really care that much what I think?”

“No,” Villanelle replies, a bit too quickly. “But I know Eve cares. She won’t consider this proposal for a second without knowing you are okay with it.”

“Right…”

Kenny stares off into the air, focus out the window somewhere on the skyline. “So?” Villanelle leans in, trying to reel in his focus. “Will you give me your blessing?”

“Can I think for a moment?”

“Fine.” Villanelle slumps back. She crosses her arms. She counts to five. “Can I have it?”

“Would you just…!” Kenny sighs, and goes quiet. It feels like hours before he says, “Are you going to tell the parents?”

“I don’t know. We will figure that out if she says yes.”

“ _When_ she says yes.”

Villanelle’s eyes widen.

“You have my blessing,” Kenny says. “Even if I wanted to say no, I can’t. Not when I see how happy you make her.”

Villanelle can’t help but clench her fists excitedly, knocking her silverware against her plate with a tiny tinkle. “Yes!”

“But you have to promise to take good care of her, okay? Not that she needs taking care of, but, for better or for worse…” Kenny shakes his head. “God, she would hate me telling you this… you have a lot of power over her.”

All of Villanelle’s nervousness from a moment ago transmutes into cockiness. “Oh, really?” 

“She doesn’t let people in easily. She’s like Mum that way. She’d _really_ hate me saying that,” Kenny mutters, aside, then continues, “So when she does let someone into her heart, it’s very… vulnerable.”

“Hm.” _Vulnerable_ isn’t the first word Villanelle would use to describe Eve’s aggressive self-defense mechanism whenever she feels the slightest bit emotional. _Deranged_ , perhaps.

“I won’t try the intimidating brother talk, because I don’t think it’d be very convincing, but. Please, don’t hurt her.”

“I swear, I won’t.”

“Then…” Kenny’s shoulder’s drop slightly. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… I fully bless you, my future stepsister, in asking my sister for her hand in marriage.”

“Thank you!”

“I hope I don’t go to Hell for this.”

“Now, I have another very important question.” Villanelle takes another sip of her drink. “What is Eve’s favorite meal? I don’t mean ‘sushi’ or ‘steak’, I mean, what is the one specific thing that she can’t get any time, that she loves.”

Kenny pauses to think. “We used to go to a hotel in the mountains, back when I was very little, before Mum and I moved to London. Their dining room served this Shepherd’s Pie that Eve couldn’t get enough of. She’d order it for dinner every day we were there. But that was over fifteen years ago…”

“Where is this hotel?” Villanelle whips out her phone.

“North Conway, I think. New Hampshire.”

“New Hampshire.” Villanelle grins. “Perfect.”

* * *

  
Wednesday morning, Villanelle pulls up outside Irina’s dorm, where her sister is already waiting. She unlocks the passenger side door of her Lexus, but Irina walks around to the driver’s side and motions for her to roll down the window.

“I want to drive.”

“No way. This car is too expensive.”

“You know, I am keeping _two_ secrets for you now. One from Dad, and one from Eve…”

“Fine.” Villanelle gets out of the car. “Only for now. You aren’t crossing state lines. But you can drive us into Boston.”

First priority is a quick stop at Eve’s work, where Irina plays the part of enthusiastic blackmailer a little too well for Villanelle’s liking.

Eve watches their performance with concern. After Irina goes too far, honking the car horn while they kiss, Eve looks so incredibly distressed, in fact, that Villanelle almost spills the beans right then and there. But no, she holds her tongue. The surprise will be worth it.

She lets Irina drive them out of the city, but they stop at a mall in Saugus to switch. Villanelle practically has to pry the keys from Irina’s grubby little hands, but she coaxes a surrender by buying her a soft pretzel from the snack bar. Then, they’re on the road again, zooming north at eighty miles per hour.

As they pass the border into New Hampshire, a romantic pop song comes on the radio. Villanelle begins mumbling along to the music. She doesn’t really know the words, but the melody is familiar, and something in the song resonates. 

“So annoying.” Irina hits the button to change the station.

“Hey!” Villanelle cries. “Put it back!”

Irina eyes Villanelle suspiciously. “Since when are you into sappy stuff like that?”

“I am in love.”

“So is Dad, but he still listens to good music.”

Villanelle turns the music back on, and Irina grumpily slouches as much as her seatbelt will let her.

“That reminds me,” Villanelle says. “Did you like the idea for Dad’s Bachelor party I emailed you about?”

“Don’t say ‘bachelor’. Dad isn’t a twenty year old ex-basketball player called Brett who is looking for a girl with fake boobs to propose to, then break up with once they’re off television.”

“You single people can be so grumpy.” Villanelle turns the music up. She resumes her mumbling.

“Don’t sing along if you don’t know the words!”

“I know the chorus.”

“Then just sing that!”

“Two in a million.” Villanelle sighs and sinks back against the headrest of her seat. “Eve and I are like that.”

“That’s not that impressive,” Irina replies immediately. “That means there are nearly eight thousand other people on the planet that you could like as much as Eve. If you’re trying to say you’re the only ones for each other, you should say, ‘two in seven point eight billion’.”

“It’s an expression. You don’t have to pick it apart,” Villanelle mutters. “Nerd.”

But Villanelle considers, as the final chorus plays, that Eve probably would have said the same thing.

* * *

Hours later, the black Lexus drives up a winding slope to where the Red Jacket Mountain Resort sits atop a lush green hill.  
  
Irina wants to stop and investigate the horse-drawn carriages that seem to be regularly departing from the hotel for tours through the forest, but Villanelle drags her inside. They head for the dining room, then, without hesitation, Villanelle barges into the kitchen.

She takes the nearest chef and backs him up against a shelf of pots and pans. She points her car keys at his face threateningly. “I want the recipe to your Shepherd’s Pie.”

“What?” the chef chokes. “We don’t serve Shepherd’s Pie.”

“You did! My girlfriend used to come here and get it.”

“It must’ve been years ago.”

“Yes, at least twenty.”

“Then I can’t help you. I’ve only worked here five.”

“I can.”

Villanelle looks in the direction of the voice to see another chef, a woman with cropped gray hair, leaning against the door of the walk-in freezer. On closer inspection, she notices a tiny, worn name tag on the woman’s smock: FRAN.

“I’ve worked in this kitchen for twenty-nine years,” Fran says, stalking forward. “I remember when we had Shepherd’s Pie. Lost it because it wasn’t a big seller. Not sexy enough.”

Villanelle rushes over to Fran, almost knocking over a busboy with an armful of dishes on her way. “Do you have the recipe?”

“My memory’s a bit foggy. Couple of Benjamins might jog it though…”

“Excuse me?”

“Damn foreigners.” Fran overly enunciates her next words. “I’m ask-ing you for mon-ey.”

“Why didn’t you just say so?” Villanelle reaches for her wallet.

“Duh,” Irina says. “Benjamin Franklin is on the one hundred dollar bill.”

“Six months of American school and suddenly you’re the expert…” Villanelle mutters as she counts bills. “Here.”  
  
Fran examines the money then tucks it inside her smock. “You ready?”

Villanelle nods.

“Ground beef, potatoes…”

“Potatoes…” Villanelle echoes softly.

“Are you sure you don’t want to write this down?” Fran cocks an eyebrow.

“I will remember!” Villanelle insists.

* * *

A few minutes later and two hundred dollars poorer, Villanelle drives them towards the best-rated fireworks outlet in southeastern New Hampshire.

“Ground beef, potatoes, carrots…” Villanelle drums her fingers on the steering wheel. “Tomato…”

“There were no tomatoes,” Irina says.

“Shit, then what came after carrots?”

“Maybe you should have written it down.”

“Irina, help me remember what came after carrots or I am turning this car around.”

“Will you relax?” Irina holds up her phone. “I recorded it.”

“I knew there was a reason I brought you along.”

“Besides the explosives?”

“Yes, besides the explosives.”

Finally, they pull into the sprawling parking lot at State Line Pyrotechnics, an establishment which apparently takes great pride in being easily accessible to visitors from more Puritan states.

Automatic doors slide open, beckoning them inside to the aisles stacked high with brightly colored boxes. Garish designs in red, white and blue cover every package as far as the eye can see.

“Can I help you ladies?”

A lanky young man with a buzz-cut and tattoos toughening up his baby face leans on the shelf of fireworks next to them. “I’m Felix. Junior Senior sales associate.”

“No, we’ve got this covered,” Villanelle says, grabbing a huge box that reads “100 Count” off the shelf.

“If you want that many, it might be wise to have someone experienced on hand.”

“You mean, hired labor?”

“For a very fair price.” Felix bobs his head invitingly.

“What areas do you serve?”

“How far are you talkin’?”

“Massachusetts,” Villanelle says. “Still working on the exact location.”

“Mass is tricky. Lotsa permits. You set off this many, you might catch some eyes.”

“Are you saying it’s not possible?”

“A skilled handler could be persuaded to do it anywhere that’s not forested. For the right amount of money.”

“Money isn’t an issue.”

“Then we’re in business.”

Irina pulls Villanelle aside. “I thought I was going to set off the fireworks.”

“You can still help. But it’s probably safer to have a professional anyway. Dad wouldn’t be pleased if you melted your face off so close to the wedding.”

“Safer with _that_ guy? Look at his neck tattoos.”

Villanelle looks over and assesses the floral design on Felix’s neck. “I think they show admirable commitment and follow-through.”

“So are we doing this?” Felix calls out.

Villanelle turns back to him. “I’ll call you with the details. For now, we need to head home. It’s getting late.”

“Don’t you want a demonstration?” Felix grins. “If you’re making an order this big, figured you’d want a sample.”

Irina looks at Villanelle. “I pull all-nighters all the time doing homework.” Her eyes fill with a pleading light, like sparklers.

A few minutes later, they’re out at the back of the lot. The sun has set, and though the store gives off light behind them, if they face the other way, into the mountains, it’s pitch black. 

Felix assembles a row of mortars, and he explains each step as he packs charges down into the tubes, then pulls the fuse out of the top.

“Ready?” He says. “You light the fuse, then… get back!”

He leaps back to join them a safe distance away as the fuse sparks. A few seconds of eerie silence, then, _boom_. A ball of sparks and smoke shoots straight up in the air, vanishes from sight, then explodes into a rain of white sparkles highlighted against the night sky.

Irina’s face lights up, and Villanelle is sure hers looks the same as she turns to Felix. “Can we do that times two hundred?”

“Let me run your card. I’ll take care of the rest.”

* * *

It’s hard not to get carried away with fireworks, especially since none of the three of them apparently has good self-control. Several dozen demonstrations later, Villanelle has ordered a veritable armory of fireworks and promised to call Felix later once she determines the time and location of the show. It’s nearly two in the morning by the time Villanelle and Irina pile back in the car, though Irina insists she’s wide awake and stays up later than this all the time at school.

Despite her big talk, Irina falls asleep as soon as they hit the highway. After the long, silent drive back, Villanelle rouses her when they finally reach Wellesley, and half-carries, half-drags Irina up to her dorm room. Then, it’s another lonely half hour to make it back to her apartment, and a lonely twenty minutes searching for a free parking spot well past five in the morning. Finally, a sedan pulls away from the curb – maybe someone heading to work – and Villanelle is able to snag the spot.

Villanelle’s legs are heavy, but she forces herself to take the stairs two at a time nonetheless, because the sun peeks over the horizon, and it’s nearing the time when Eve might wake up. At least, Villanelle thinks so. She usually sleeps until a reasonable hour like nine-thirty or ten, when Eve is already at work, but she believes that the first of Eve’s alarms usually goes off at six. 

Her phone says 5:57 as she unlocks her apartment door – cutting it close. She drops her purse and runs as quickly as she can without making noise. Once in the bedroom, she carefully pulls aside the covers and slips into bed without so much as undressing.

She squeezes her eyes shut tight, but even with the exhaustion seeping through her bones, there’s no way she can fall asleep now. Lying still, it’s all she can do to act like a log until…

 _Ring. Ring_. Villanelle stiffens, while next to her, Eve stirs at the sound, fumbling blindly for her phone to turn it off. Then she’s out of the bed. Villanelle puts all her focus into slowing her breathing and giving a convincing impression of sleep.

Once Eve dresses and exits the bedroom, Villanelle breathes easier. She slips off into a half-dozing state, though she’s still dimly aware of the noises of Eve’s morning routine. Finally, she registers the familiar click of the apartment door shutting, meaning the coast is clear. She rouses herself, for even though she’s exhausted, she wants to at least change out of the clothes she’s been in for twenty-four hours. 

After she’s vertical long enough to get into her silk lobster pajamas, the blood is pumping again, so she goes to get a drink of water before collapsing once again. But just as she opens the cabinet to retrieve a glass, she hears footsteps outside the door. The jingle of keys. 

_What?!_ She has no time to wonder why Eve might be back. She makes a mad dash for the bedroom and leaps back into bed, pulling up the covers, just in case Eve should return to the bedroom and wonder why Villanelle is in a new outfit now–

Her heart pounds while she hears a few steps and some shuffling from the kitchen, but only a minute later, the apartment door slams again. Silence.

Villanelle drops her head to the pillow and blacks out.

* * *

When she wakes, she finds a notification on her phone screen – a voicemail from Eve. “Hope you like the breakfast I left for you. I can’t wait to hear about whatever it was Irina demanded that kept you out all night. But the upside is, with you gone, and having the living room to myself, I got to stretch out and watch old football games. Naked.”

Villanelle walks out to the kitchen as she listens, and notes a box with the pink and orange Dunkin’ Donuts logo on the kitchen counter. She opens the lid to find six assorted donuts, and a note in Eve’s handwriting that says: _check the fridge, too._

Villanelle takes a bite of a jelly donut as she swings open the fridge door and finds an iced coffee stuck in the door. She dials Eve’s number while she eats breakfast, but it goes to voicemail. “Why did you get Dunkin’ Donuts? It’s gross,” she mumbles, while licking the sugar from the jelly donut off her fingertips. “You couldn’t have gone anywhere that doesn’t use styrofoam cups in the twenty-first century? Also, you know, you are welcome to sit around naked even when I am home. Just not the football part.” 

Finally awake, and caffeinated to boot, she figures she should make an attempt to do some actual work, since she did none yesterday.

But she can’t work in such a messy environment. Eve started unpacking some of her clothes last night, which, for Eve, of course, means there are clothes strewn everywhere. Villanelle calls Eve again while she rifles through them.

She gets voicemail again. “I started putting your clothes away – thanks for leaving those all over the apartment, by the way – and I have to ask why you have a sweatshirt that says ‘ReLAX Bro’. Is it from an ex? Did he play lacrosse? It’s very soft, though.”

Villanelle drops the worn-out gray hoodie back in the box, then finally dresses herself, for there’s plenty of business to take care of. She manages to knock out a couple hours of work before heading out to a diamond dealer on Washington street with the Rockport ring in tow. 

She leaves another message for Eve while she points at different diamonds in the case for examination. “I’m bored, and I told Irina she has to stay at school today; I can’t call her out two days in a row. Want to meet for lunch?” Villanelle’s lips form an O of wonder, and she nods at the jeweler. The diamond on the velvet cushion before her is the one for Eve. 

A “thank you” to the jeweler, and she leaves a check, and the ring, of course, so they can add the setting and the gem, and properly size the ring for Eve’s finger. Good thing Villanelle snooped and checked the size of Eve’s birthstone ring once while she showered… _Information is everything_ , as her father always told her.

But as the afternoon creeps onward, Eve never calls back. Villanelle’s stomach growls until she finally caves and walks down to the corner for a taco. She checks her phone all the while, willing it to ring. Sure, Eve’s at work, but Villanelle knows for a fact that Eve hates most things about her job and is always looking for any distraction from it. How can it be that she hasn’t gotten any of Villanelle’s messages yet?

While she wipes her face clean after scarfing down the taco, she leaves yet another voicemail. “Okay, I guess you couldn’t meet for lunch, but whenever you get these, make an excuse to sneak out for a bit to meet me. I’ll wait for you in the Common.”

Villanelle shoves her hands in her pockets and strolls through the Boston Public Garden. She winds past flowering plants, and heads toward the pond, where families ride swan boats on the water. She frowns at the grumpy statue of George Washington as she passes. Then, finally settles down on a bench next to a statue of some ducks. Presidents and waterfowl, the only two things worth commemorating, according to Bostonians.

She can’t wait much longer, since there’s more business to take care of that evening. She calls Eve again. “Where are you? I’m by the ducklings. There’s a child sitting on top of one of them. I’ll wait, but don’t keep me waiting forever.” 

Villanelle fidgets, antsy, and contemplates climbing onto the mother duck as soon as the child gets off of it, but her phone rings. She’s disappointed to see it’s not Eve calling, but Bill.

“Good news,” he begins. “Remember what you were telling me the other day about Eve being miserable at work? I think I may have a solution. A job has opened up here at the Bureau that might just be a fit. Should I ask her to apply?”

“That’s amazing! She will be so excited.”

“Wonderful. I’m going to ask her over for dinner tomorrow, to give her the news in person. You’re invited as well.”

“Yes,” Villanelle says, then bites her lip. “No. I can’t come. I have something to take care of.”

“What is so important that it can’t be rescheduled to see the look on Eve’s face when I tell her? It’s going to be a _good_ look.”

“I know it will be. Take a picture for me maybe? But I can’t come. I have to meet with a client to get the keys to his boat.”

“A boat?”

“You know. For me to take Eve out on the water, and ask her to marry me. By the way, are you free next weekend, to come celebrate the occasion?” Villanelle asks. “There’ll be a good look on her face that night, too.”

“I’ll do you one better. I have a boat captain’s license.”

“William!” Villanelle exclaims. “We have to hang out some time. Just us. I think we would get on well.”

As soon as she hangs up, she glances at the time. 5:06. She has to get going if she is going to make the ferry to take her out to one of the islands in the Harbor for scouting purposes.

She’s already in the car by the time she gets a notification signaling a voicemail from Eve.

* * *

It’s another late night. Villanelle took boats out to three different islands in Boston Harbor. At each, she had to text pictures to Felix before receiving confirmation that a certain stretch of coastline would be suitable for setting off the fireworks for viewing from the harbor. 

Once again, she arrives home once Eve is already in bed, and, once again, she wakes up alone the next morning.

Friday already. The week has flown by, and Villanelle has hardly rested for a second. She cares less about being behind on sleep and more that she hasn’t seen Eve since a few minutes on the sidewalk on Wednesday. 

Somehow, even as she’s working at home, she still can’t manage to get in contact with Eve. The universe is conspiring against them, and they’re only able to exchange a few half-hearted voicemails, which only serve to remind Villanelle that she won’t get to join Eve at Bill’s for dinner. It’s always something, this week.

Villanelle spends most days in her apartment alone while she works. It has never bothered her before. If she wants background noise of people talking, she goes out to a restaurant. If she wants to flirt, she goes out to a club. If she wants to fuck, she brings something back home from the club.

While sitting and working alone, it has never occurred to her to be lonely. Truthfully, she can’t remember any time she’d describe as feeling lonely. At least, never until she met Eve.

Maybe she’s just bored. She scans the room looking for something to spark her interest. Her gaze lands on Eve’s hoodie, still tossed over the arm of the couch where that slob left it yesterday. Villanelle hadn’t touched it on principle, to see if Eve would clean up her own mess at some point.

Now, she reaches for the worn grey sweatshirt, examining the picture closely for the first time. She runs her fingers over the pair of lacrosse sticks, screen-printed in orange and white, feeling the crisscrossing lines of the nets. Stares at the cracked lettering once more. _RELAX BRO_. Rather an obnoxious tone for an article of clothing to take.

But the cloth is soft on her hands, and she presses it to her face. It’s soft there too, no surprise. Villanelle inhales. It smells like Eve. Really. She must have worn it (and of course, didn’t throw it in the laundry bin). But it smells like something else, too. Villanelle turns the sweater over in her hands, until she finds a dark purple splotch towards the bottom, on the pocket. One night reunited with her favorite hoodie and Eve managed to spill wine on it. Classic.

Her phone buzzes, bringing an empty rush of hope, but it’s only a calendar alert, reminding her she needs to leave for her dinner meeting with her client, Richard. She dresses in her sharpest business attire and grabs her keys. Then, for some reason, grabs the sweatshirt, too, and brings it with her in the car.

She meets Richard at a private table in the back of a classy restaurant on the waterfront. His dark gray hair is that telltale mix of thinning-yet-vibrant which makes it clear he’s actively fighting his genetics with all hair-regrowth products money can buy (and he has a lot of money, which Villanelle helps invest to make him even more). He wears a crisp white button down and a navy blazer. No tie, he’s not that kind of guy.

He already ordered drinks for the both of them – a local cider he wants her to try. She takes a sip, it’s crisp and tart and sweet. They make small talk about his portfolio at first, but the market’s doing great, so there isn’t much to be concerned about.

Eventually, Richard spares her the segue. “As for that favor you asked me about…”

Richard reaches into his suit coat and pulls out a set of keys, then dangles them over the table. A leather tag on the key ring has gold-stamped lettering on it in fancy script.

“ _The Lauren_?” Villanelle reads, as she takes the keys. “Wife?”

“Daughter.” His eyes crinkle as he smiles. “It was her idea to get the boat, but then she ran off to Bali, so now it’s just sitting there.”

“What did you do to make her run that far?”

“No drama. Or if there is, it’s in her head. Kind of an _Eat, Pray, Love_ thing. Minus the pray. She’s happy; that’s all that matters. But she left me with this darn thing.”

“You could rename it.”

“Boats are a lot like kids,” Richard sighs. “Cost you a fortune just to exist, doing nothing. But it’s hard to part with them.”

“If I took my job seriously, I’d tell you to sell it.”

“It’s okay. If she ever comes back, it’ll be there for her. In the mean time, someone should use it.”

“Thank you.”

“What’s the special occasion, anyway?”

“I am going to ask my sister to marry me.”

Richard is stunned into silence for a moment. 

“She is not really my sister.” Villanelle forces a wry grin to break the tension.

“But… A woman?”

“Yes.” Villanelle scoots her cider to the side, and looks him dead in the face. She already has the keys, so if he really has such an issue, she’s going to at least stare him down so he has to really sit in his decision if he demands them back, now.

“No!” Richard gasps, then stumbles over his words. “I mean. I don’t have any problem with that. Not that anyone should have a– I was just– it’s funny– my daughter is gay.” By this point, his face is beet red.

Villanelle takes a very, very long sip of her cider. She lets Richard sit in the discomfort. Finally, she sets it down with a _clink_. “Maybe we know each other.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Richard raises his glass, and Villanelle returns the toast, draining her last bit of cider.

“That is marvelous. I am going to move some of your money into this brewery.”

“Two steps ahead of you.” He winks.

“Then I am going to double your investment.”

* * *

Night has fallen by the time Villanelle finds a parking spot on her street. She looks up at the apartment window. No light. Eve’s still at dinner with Bill. 

She notices Eve’s hoodie lying on the passenger seat, where she tossed it earlier. She puts it on over her blouse. Too warm for it, but Villanelle doesn’t care. It’s so soft, and it envelops her completely. She pulls the hood up and shrinks into the fabric, letting it swallow her.

Then, she calls Eve’s cell, more as a reflex at this point than out of any actual hope of reaching her. It’s pointless, she won’t pick up while she’s talking to Bill. Villanelle braces herself for the familiar tone of Eve’s voicemail message…

“Hi.”

It’s her. Not a prerecorded message. It’s Eve.

“Hi,” is all Villanelle can manage in return.

“Are you still with Irina?”

“No, I’m home. Are you almost done?”

“I’m walking home from Bill’s now.”

“Where are you?” Villanelle says. “Wait for me. I’m coming.” She picks up her pace, cutting through the park at a jog.

“I’m on the Common. By…”

“The ducklings.”

Villanelle spots her. Hair down, shoulders slumped, clutching leftovers. The most beautiful she’s ever been, in Villanelle’s eyes.

They run to one another, and it’s like coming home. 

There’s some catching up to do, but mostly on Eve’s end – obviously Villanelle can’t explain what she’s been up to all week. Eve’s happy about the job, and yet, while they sit on that bench across from the ducklings, Eve leans into her and cries.

Eve is crying. And not _“Wow, Villanelle, you made me come so hard I’m in tears”_ crying. She is crying because she is sad.

This was not part of the plan.

Villanelle would do anything to make it stop. Eve is sad and that is not supposed to be happening. The words brew in her stomach, race up through her throat: _will you marry me?_

But she clamps her mouth shut before they can escape. Because if she says those words now, all the work she’s done this week will go to waste. 

There’s another reason, too, that bubbles up while Villanelle wraps her arm around Eve. A reason she does not want to cop to, that she’s been brushing off all week long. She wrinkles her brow and stares out at the line of ducklings accusingly. Those ducks look scared. Not her, she isn’t scared. She’s not terrified with her whole being that if she asks that question, Eve might respond with anything other than a resounding _yes_. 

She focuses harder and harder on the ducks until the other familiar words come out of her mouth by sheer force of memory. Suddenly she’s six years old again, walking along the riverbank with her mother. Her mother would tear a piece of bread into tiny bits and throw it to the birds. Villanelle would take a huge hunk of the loaf and chuck it at their heads, making them scatter. But rather than chastise her, Mother only sighed, and said those immortal words: “’Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.”

Villanelle doesn’t realize she said it aloud until Eve picks up her head and stares at her. She’s staring at Villanelle like she’s grown an extra head, but the tears have stopped.

The question can wait. When the time comes, there will be a boat and there will be fireworks and a reasonably sized diamond and Eve will definitely say yes. She’ll _have_ to.

She swallows her fear and holds Eve tighter in the moonlight, she resolves: _if Eve says no – which she won’t, but if she does – I’m stealing this fucking sweatshirt._

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to Lauren for coming up with the boat idea, and for beta reading this chapter so I could have some actual Quality Assurance rather than my usual practice of editing all the mistakes I find after posting to Ao3. 
> 
> And a SUPER big thanks to all the folks who made donations to BLM and other antiracist causes to help make this chapter a reality. Remember, [the work never stops](https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/#).
> 
> come hang with me on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xo


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